A Little Thing
by WolfAtSea
Summary: [AU after Deathly Hallows; not Epilogue compliant] On June 5th, 2002, Junior Auror Harry Potter visits an orphanage in Glasgow, where he meets a peculiar child that has red, slitted eyes and only talks in a hissing language. The muggles even named it Thomas, as luck would have it.
1. Chapter 1 - St Nicholas

June 5th, 2002 was not a nice day in Glasgow. The morning air was chilly despite the promise of summer, and the clouds looked all kinds of unfriendly. The forecast said a storm was coming later in the day.

Alex Johnson was up and about before sunrise - he always was. As the chief caretaker, he had a myriad of tasks to perform every single day. It was a few minutes past seven now, and in a little while, the children would be awake and tearing up and down the hallways. Mary Walsh would be screeching - it wasn't nice to say this about a lady, but Mary's voice was rather harsh to the ear - for them to quiet down and Harvey Dunn would be stomping and threatening to give the little rascals a good fogging. He never ever carried out the threat. All of them here treated the orphans right.

For another ten minutes or so, though, Johnson hoped to enjoy some last peace and quiet … until Harvey Dunn raced up the stairs, looking much stormier than the sky.

"WHat's up, Harv?"

"The Thing is causing a right fracas - again!"

"Shh … You'll wake the children." Johnson started walking downstairs, where the younger children lived, and the big man followed him. "Now, the troublemaker - did you feed him?"

"Of course!" Dunn answered indignantly. "I fed the Thing when it started to fuss at bloody six in the morning! You know it hardly eats anyway."

"Did you make him finish the bottle?"

Dunn's shoulders sagged. "No. Wouldn't take it."

Johnson led them into the kitchen, picking out the special formula they kept in the top drawer. He started mixing up a bottle with a familiarity from a decade's experience with young children. Although, to be fair, orphan kids usually weren't this picky. "You've got to be gentle with him, Harv. Watch me."

As they made their way to the end of the hall, Johnson could hear the ruckus Dunn was referring to. Swinging open the door, he saw the child was safe in his crib, fussing and hissing quite spectacularly. Johnson was glad to see that the boy was probably just hungry and not in one of his … spells - or seizures - that happened quite often.

"Hey, buddy. Going to say good morning to me?" The boy stopped hissing and looked up at him curiously. Of course Johnson didn't expect an answer. They all surmised that perhaps the boy was autistic, but they didn't have the funds or manpower to take him to a psychiatrist.

Johnson picked the boy up easily and sat down on the wooden chair beside the crib. "Now, will you be a good boy and finish your breakfast? God, you're so skin and bones …" Johnson had never seen a four-year-old who couldn't hold solid food, but then again nothing could be considered out of sorts when it came to this particular boy. The Doctor said they would stick with this kind of baby formula for now. The child seemed to like it; he took the straw bottle and started sucking without further ado.

"See, Harv? He was really just hungry."

The burly caretaker shook his head. "Alex, I've no idea how you can be so good with the Thing."

 _The Thing_ arrived at the St. Nicholas Children's Home in May, 1998 - in a picnic basket on the doorstep, like a scene out of Victorian novel. Johnson and Dunn found it first thing in the morning. The baby was lucky that the night before had been uncharacteristically warm, but by the time they brought it inside, it was already too weak to whimper. Johnson didn't waste a second before phoning the doctor. He had never seen such a skinny baby - he didn't know such a thing existed. How this infant survived was anyone's guess.

Dunn stared at the little bundle in the basket, his face ashen. "Alex! You must be out of your -"

"Harv, I'm talking on the phone here … Yes, Doctor. You must come here right this moment. I'm afraid the baby wouldn't last much longer …" When Johnson put down the phone, Dunn was still in a fit.

"Alex! _Look_ at this abomination -"

"It's a baby boy, Harv." Johnson picked up the tiny child again and looked it over. It wasn't hurt, only frightening emaciated and probably sick. Its eyes were hidden under thin lids now, but they both caught a glimpse before - this child's eyes were blood-red and slitted like a cats. Johnson couldn't really blame his colleague - it was rather scary. The baby didn't have a single hair on his face or body, and its skin was deathly white - almost as pale as the tissue Johnson used to wipe its forehead.

"This, this _Thing_ is not a human child, Alex!" Dunn exclaimed. "It's probably the spawn of the Devil!"

Johnson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Devil spawn, seriously? Dunn was religious, he knew, but still they were almost in the 21st century. The next thing they knew, Big Harv would start believing in those millennium doomsday crap too.

Dunn took a deep breath and looked at the baby with something dangerous in his eyes. "Get rid of it." Johnson turned serious immediately.

"What?"

"I said get rid of it. It's a freak."

Johnson answered very quietly, with steel in his voice. "We're not 'getting rid of' a baby boy, Harvey."

"But -"

"You listen to me! If you lay one hand on this child, I'll be down at the station the next minute and have them put you behind bars for the rest of your life, do you hear?"

Dunn glared back for a few more seconds, then visibly deflated. Johnson knew he wouldn't really do anything to a helpless baby.

"Now, we ought to think of a name."

"For this thing?" Dunn was incredulous. "It's not going to make it."

"He will make it." Johnson stated. "Doctor Erickson does wonders, and he'll be here any minute. We're thinking up a name and registering the boy at the Office this afternoon so the bills can be taken care of."

Dunn frowned for a moment. "Little Thomas is leaving with his new parents today. We're one Thomas short."

"Hmmm."

"It's not like this _thing_ will get adopted anyway. It's as good a name as any."

"Don't say that." Johnson looked at the tiny thing that was snuggled against him for warmth. He hoped the child was asleep and not unconscious. "He's sort of cute, no?" Dunn just stared. "Thomas the demon boy …"

Years passed and hardly anyone at St. Nicholas called the child Thomas. They referred to him as 'the Thing' or 'it', children and caretakers alike. Johnson thought it wasn't right, but he couldn't do much about it. He had the hardest job but he wasn't the boss around here. The Board and the Big Guys who owned the Board were.

The strange boy took up the small room at the end of the hall on the first floor. Everyone, except for Johnson and maybe Harvey Dunn, was dead scared of him. For one, his eyes never changed to a normal colour and he never grew hair as time went by. Anyone would be unnerved when they stared into those crimson irises, not to mention the St. Nicholas children who were flighty at the best of times. None of them would approach Thomas no matter what; none dared try making friends with him.

Worse still, strange things happened around the demon child. Cups and plates would break and his few toys would be broken and tossed across the room as if they'd been caught in a hurricane. Some of the caretakers swore they saw sparks in his room after lights out. Johnson prided himself as being a pragmatist and refused to believe that these odd occurrences were indeed caused by the unusual boy. Nothing serious ever happened anyway. But as it is, young Thomas was the most lonely soul at the Children's Home. Whenever anyone visited, they always kept him out of sight in fear of scaring off the perspective parents.

It all changed on one stormy afternoon in the June of 2002. Alex Johnson was having a nice cup of tea with Mary Walsh in the reception area when the bell chimed. A young man with round glasses and messy dark hair walked in, looking slightly bewildered. He also had a strange scar on his forehead. Johnson wondered idly how he'd managed to keep dry in this weather.

"Can we help you, sir?" Mary asked.

The young man muttered something that sounded like "The Whackspurts led me here" but Johnson reasoned he must've misheard.

"Are you here to look at the children?" Mary continued helpfully. A lot of young people came for adoption nowadays, but this one looked somewhat too young to have stopped trying for kids of his own. But Johnson had seen weirder things in his time here. "Prospective parents usually make appointments first, but the children are in the playroom until supper and I'm sure you can take a look around. Just need you to fill out a rather cumbersome form first - the Office needs to background check, you understand."

"Of course - I mean, I'd like to see the children." The young man seemed to have snapped out of whatever trance he was in. He smiled, but Johnson thought he looked rather tired. Perhaps he lost his wife or first child, Johnson conjectured. When he looked into those green eyes, he found that the man wasn't young at all - at least not at heart. He seemed like he'd seen far too much of this world already. Johnson somehow felt like he'd seen this man before.

"Your name, sir?" Mary asked once she pulled up the right page on the computer.

"Potter. Harry Potter."

Johnson and Mary each introduced themselves.

"You do look familiar, if you don't mind me saying, Mr. Potter. Do I know you from some where?"

The young man shrugged. "I used to play a bit of football. Although I didn't last very long."

"Ah. That must be it." Johnson wasn't a big football fan, but he did pick up the odd sports section now and then. And Potter did have the build of an athlete, if slightly on lithe side.

It took them a good ten minutes to finish the form, after which they made way to the playroom. They didn't get very far before a sharp hissing noise stopped them in their tracks.

"What is that?" Potter asked, staring at the source of that sound intently.

"One of our boys." Johnson explained. Thomas could be inordinately loud sometimes. He never cried and most of the time he was quiet, but from time to time he would raise Cain. Just ask Harvey Dunn and he could rant on it for hours.

"A boy was making that … sound?" Potter's voice almost quivered.

"Yes. He's … well, different, for lack of a better word."

"Can I see him?" Potter asked urgently. "I mean, _please_ , can I see him?"

"I wouldn't suggest -"

"Please, Mr. Johnson. I once had a friend who had the same … condition."

Johnson wouldn't pass on an opportunity to learn more about the mystery that was their demon boy. "All right. Just prepare yourself for what you see, yes? He is _very_ different."

They reached the end of the hall, and Johnson entered first. Thomas was sitting on the playing mat in the playpen on the floor, red eyes wide and staring straight at the entrance to the room. The moment he saw Potter, he started to hiss anxiously while trying to crawl away. Of course the playpen wasn't big enough for him to get anywhere. Potter, meanwhile, had the same panic written on his face. He reared back until he hit the wall with a thump, his face having turned a few shades paler.

Johnson sighed. He knew this would happen. "Like I said, Mr. Potter … We can leave now if you -"

" _No._ " The young man had recovered somewhat and pushed himself off of the wall. "I mean, it's okay. If I may -?" He took a few steps forward and kneeled down in front of the red-eyed child, who seemed to have calmed down as well. Giving the boy a small smile, he asked. "What is your name?"

Johnson crouched down beside them. "His name is Thomas, and he doesn't talk, ever. Just makes those hissing noises we heard earlier. Almost like a snake, no?"

The man and the boy were staring at each other like they were looking at the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Thomas … Tom. Could it be …" Potter whispered to himself, then asked. "How old is he?"

"Around four and a half, now. Of course we don't know for sure. He came here in the May of 1998, and the doctor figured he was born in January or February of that year."

Potter nodded solemnly. Thomas clawed at the flappers on the playpen, signalling that he wanted to get out. He reached a tiny hand towards the young man as if he wished to get closer. Johnson picked the child up duly and held him out to Potter. "Want to hold him?"

"Uh, sure?"

Johnson passed the child over carefully. "Now, Thomas has a temper but really he loves being close to people. Not a very independent one here. It's a shame he's always lonely since most people are scared of him."

The weird child settled in the stranger's arms like it was the most natural thing to do, and simply _beamed_. It was pure bliss in those red eyes, and Potter was smiling softly too. Johnson reminded himself that moments like these was why he was in this profession. But then Potter handed the boy back to the caretaker and stood to leave. He didn't need to meet any of the other kids, he said.

Four months passed. Johnson almost forgot about the green-eyed young man who came to visit the red-eyed demon child. But one morning in October, Potter returned. It was a Sunday, and the man sat with the boy for an hour in his room, playing with some wooden blocks with peeling paint. Those were the only toys that Thomas didn't completely destroy.

"The fellow, Potter, asked me for an adoption booklet today." Mary told Johnson at the end of the day. "You don't reckon he would actually adopt the Thing, do you?"

"Have a little faith, Mary." Johnson mock-chastised. "That'll be the day Big Harv eats his tongue."

Potter was back the next Sunday. He brought the boy a wooden steam train set - With no dangerous parts, see? He said. The engine was bright scarlet, and Johnson, if he wasn't such a practical man, would swear he heard real train whistles coming out of Thomas' room when they played in it. Of course, Potter could just be very good at sound imitations; some of the kids at the Home were. They played away the better part of the afternoon.

Potter started visiting every Sunday, and he would stay here for hours. Johnson usually wouldn't allow prospective parents to stay in a child's room without staff supervision, but he'd seen the way Potter treated Thomas, how much care he took. The boy, for one, had never seemed happier. Johnson suggested Potter read the child some stories.

"He never talks, you see, but I have a feeling he understands us perfectly well." So Potter started reading the boy books from the small library on the second floor. One time, he also brought this interesting little story book about magic and fairy tales - Beedle something.

In mid-November, Potter filed for adoption. All the adults at the orphanage were through the roof - Harvey Dunn wouldn't stop mumbling about dark magic and the Antichrist for the next week. Johnson stewed in anxiety before he asked Potter to talk in his office the first Sunday of December.

"Mr. Potter … I don't have a better way to say this, but Thomas, as you know, has _conditions_ …"

"I know." The young man replied calmly.

"No, let me finish - he's probably autistic, his appearance is so strange that the doctors haven't seen or heard anything like it, he has these, these blackouts - almost like flashbacks, but what has a four-year-old got to flash back to, yeah? He can't take care of himself, not by a long shot … I just need to know you're …"

"New Year's Eve." Potter stated suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"New Year's Eve - He was born on December 31st. It was a very cold day and his mum died soon after giving birth." The young man explained. "You see, I knew him - knew his family, I mean."

Johnson felt a little awkward. "Well, in that case …"

"I apologize for not telling you this before." Potter offered with a sad smile. "It's not easy for me to … uh, remember."

"I'm -"

"But I'm sure about this." Potter declared. "I'm look out for him, Mr. Johnson. As you said, he's been awful lonely here."

Johnson pulled out a file and informed the young man that his background check had in fact come through at the Office. They shouldn't have to wait for too long before everything was finalized.

"And his name?" It was not unusual for new parents to change their adopted children's names, especially when they were still young.

Potter smiled almost mischievously. "I believe Tommy Potter would do nicely."

The Thing left the Children's Home a week before Christmas. It was cold out but Johnson stood on the doorsteps and watched them leave. Potter had dressed Thomas in new clothes: snug little wool sweater and tiny hat in green and silver. Mary had to admit that the demon child was sort of cute. Harvey Dunn stomped down the stairs and handed a package to the new father and son.

"Almost forgot the train set." Dunn explained. "A very nice train set, I must say." The scarlet train had stayed in the boy's room all this time; not a scratch on it. Thomas hadn't had a blackout in weeks.

Dunn stood beside Johnson, watching Potter drive away in the sleek town car. "You aren't _sad_ that the Thing is gone, are you?"

Johnson didn't reply. The town car turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

"Bollocks, you _are_ , aren't you?"

"Thomas was the most peculiar thing I've ever encountered in my life." Johnson said airily. The next moment, the front door was opened and a small head poked out.

"Mr. Johnson! Mr. Dunn! Charlie took my doll and hid it on the top shelf - again!"

Johnson nodded towards the door. "Come one, Harv. We've got a damsel in distress to rescue." And everything went back to normal at St. Nicholas.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope I did all right writing from an outsider's perspective to set up things. Next chapter on, it'll be back to the PoV of several familiar characters, and more things will be explained. Until next time ...**

 **Review, please? O.o**


	2. Chapter 2 - Jokes

Chapter 2 - Jokes

* * *

"Wow - no joke." George Weasley thought, perching lazily on the kitchen island.

The child stood on the dining room table, like a deer caught in the headlights. Red eyes surveyed the room with unconcealed panic. Even in sweaters and pants, his limbs and neck looked so thin that they shouldn't be able to support his own weight. His was wearing fine clothes - from that ridiculously expensive kids' clothing shop in Diagon, where pre-school siblings bug their parents to dress up in Hogwarts spirit. Slytherin colours, too - _someone_ was feeling darkly humorous.

Harry Potter stood right by the child, as if ready to catch him should he fall. Ron and Neville looked … slightly constipated, for lack of a better term. Dad was frowning hard, Mum seemed closed to hysteria, Ginny was paler than when she faced Death Eaters and bogarts. Hermione had that look on her face - Fred used to call it the 'Granger-is-on-to-something' look. Luna was smiling - bloody _smiling_. She probably thought the thing was cute. They were all here for Christmas, and the Saviour of the Light decided it was a good time to drop the bomb.

"Uh …" Harry cleared his throat. "Well, let's see … everyone, this is Tommy. Tommy, meet everyone - most of your surviving mortal enemies, I dare say."

To be honest, George wasn't surprised; it'd been a long time coming. Oddly enough, George Weasley was the first one to find out something was wrong. It happened by pure chance, as was the way most things happened with the surviving red-haired prankster. On June 5th, 2002, George Weasley ran into Harry Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, in a muggle bar straight across from the International Floo Station in Edinburgh.

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

George could ask the same question to himself, and he probably wouldn't be able to answer. This place just seemed as good a place as any. These days those things didn't make much difference.

Angelina dropped by the Burrow the other day. She wished his family well and pulled him into the garden. Did he want to - It had been a while, but she thought perhaps they could … perhaps it'd been long enough … Did he want to go out? With her?

George was silent for a good minute, and then he said he didn't really feel up to it at the moment. Said it reminded him of too much. It was only partly true. Angelina's smile reminded him of Fred, sure enough, but then again _everything_ did. It was irony, splendid irony - George worked his arse off at the jokes shop every single day, and there wasn't a single thing in that shop that didn't remind him of his twin. They were opening two new locations in Hogsmeade and Edinburgh, by the way. Some purebloods were funding them and they were talking of expanding to the Continent.

"I saw a ghost today." The boy George considered a bother said. His speech was a tiny bit slurred but his eyes remained a stunning Killing Curse green.

"What did it say to you?" George slid onto the stool and waved the bartender over. Harry was drinking muggle Scotch - nice and strong - and George asked for the same.

"He didn't talk." The younger man replied.

"What did he want then?" George asked in all seriousness.

Harry frowned, squinting at the ember liquid in his glass. "I - I'm not sure … I think he's lonely."

George didn't know what to say to that. The bartender slid him his drink and he took several sips in silence.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah?" He repeated, raising his brows.

"I'm - I'm all right, George." Harry chuckled. "It's actually - man, I'm so glad it's you who found me here. You're not going to tell on me, are you? Don't tell Ginny. Or your mom - please?"

"Tell on you? Who did you take me for?" George yelped in indignation, punching the boy saviour lightly in the shoulder. "But seriously, Harry, you're a grown man now - badass Auror and everything. You can take care of yourself."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "Yeah." He didn't sound so sure. They finished their drinks in silence and flood back to London. George never did tell on him.

* * *

"That's …" Ron decide to be Captain Obvious. "That's - You-Know-Who." It wasn't like Harry hadn't explained that five times already.

"Yeah." Harry replied simply, leaning closer to the child on the table as if afraid someone would snatch him away.

"How did this happen?" Ginny, in a voice squeakier than usual, demanded.

Harry smiled rather ruefully. "I have no idea."

* * *

It was a Sunday afternoon in October that Harry Potter walked into George Weasley's jokes shop in Diagon Alley. The bell on the door started singing insults at the most recent visitor. The children began to whisper excitedly, and George looked up from a mountain of gadgets to see his old friend. He didn't, however, manage to spit out a "hello Harry" before -

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"What's that, old boy?" When was the last time - scratch that. When did anyone come to George Weasley for a serious, philosophical conversation, ever?

"Reincarnation, George." The green-eyed youth repeated. "Do you believe it - you reckon it could happen?"

"I don't know, Harry. Why don't you ask Hermione?" One wrong move and the self-dictating quill he was working on started to scream. Most of the children in the shop scurried out as fast as they could. Little wimps.

"Because -" Harry yelled above the ear-piercing noise. "BECAUSE SHE WOULDN'T - THEY WOULDN'T - I DON'T KNOW!"

"THEY WOULDN'T WHAT?!" _Condicio Reditum_. _Figo Instans_ …

"UNDERSTAND!"

"UNDERSTAND WHAT?" _Finite Incantenum_ … "WHY DOESN'T THIS BLOODY WORK?!"

"SOMETHING HAPPENED TO -" Harry sighed exasperately. " _Silencio!_ " And the screaming stopped.

"Oh. Thanks, buddy."

"No problem." The quill started to attack a nearby doll viciously. Ouch. "Well, I was saying … I ran into something recently. Might as well be the most frightening thing I'd ever seen. But then I realized, I realized it might not be as bad as it looked … you get my drift?"

George smirked, leaping deftly out of the homicidal quill's reach. "No, but nothing's ever - ouch! - the way they look, are they? Take this quill, for example …"

The green-eyed young man watched his friend engage in a rather deadly dance with his own demonic creation for a few moments. "Thanks, George." Harry flashed him one of his most genuine smiles. He hadn't used that smile very often, not since, since George's seventh year in school, perhaps. "Want me to call the other Aurors to comprehend this … _magical quill_?"

George finally managed to hit the quill with a book, laughing manically. "Oh, sod off."

* * *

"So you don't know how - how this happened?" Neville gasped out. It's not like Harry didn't say just that five seconds ago! Good old Neville …

"No. Honest …"

The child started to whimper. He'd taken a seat on the rather run-down table, looking scared as hell by everyone in this room. George supposed it made sense - they had been his worst enemies, after all. The little guy proceeded to curl himself into a ball and was, for the most part, succeeding. He looked so tiny that way.

"Hey … don't be scared. You're all right here. These people won't hurt you." Harry almost _cooed_ , picking up the child with a practiced ease. On some level, George had always expected Harry Potter to be a great father.

* * *

Having grown up with five brothers, George Weasley hadn't expected he would be the one to give Harry Potter the 'big brother talk', but here they were in the deserted Burrow garden in early December.

"Harry, we need to talk."

The younger man humphed and muttered "… second time today …"

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

"All right, so …" Like he said, George Weasley didn't prepare for this, but he supposed it would have been weird if Ron were to give his best mate That Talk. As the Boy-Who-Lived's third favourite Weasley, George felt compelled to do it.

"Uh, you and Ginny … you know." It was harder when no one was there to finish his sentences; George so wasn't cut out for this.

"We're taking it slow."

"Oh? Here I thought …" Ron was adamant that he saw Harry purchase a ring. A nice one, the kind with diamonds that muggle boys give to muggle girls when they want their hand in marriage. It made sense - Harry was stubbornly muggle in many ways. And all those weekends Harry disappeared, he thought … But Ron could be wrong, that dunderhead.

"No, no, we're … we're doing great, George." Harry smiled. "You really don't have to threaten me with a shovel, or anything."

"A shovel?"

"Never mind." Harry waved it off. "I'll never hurt Ginny - you know that, right?"

"Harry …"

The boy saviour shuffled his feet. "Are you not cold? I think Molly's making hot cocoa."

George was indeed cold, so he let Harry lead the way back in. But something was up with Harry, he was sure. He just had no idea how to talk to him about it. "Never mind." George repeated to himself, heading towards the kitchen.

* * *

"Well, does he _remember_ anything?" That would be Hermione, always going for the toughest questions. The child let out a long string of hisses, and George felt a chill run down his spine.

"Oh, yes, I do believe he remembers." Harry responded a little too cheerfully. "But I wouldn't say he understands everything he remembers. I mean … Tommy is Voldemort, and at the same time he isn't, if you get what I mean?"

They all nodded their heads. Then shook their heads. Harry looked amused until the child began hissing anxiously again.

"Tom, I do wish I understood what you're trying to say, but I can't anymore, all right? Now, can we try this again in English?"

The child went silent. Harry sighed.

"Harry …" Dad started, "Don't take this the wrong way, but, um … You are keeping him?"

Nine pair of eyes drilled into the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Yes." Harry replied easily. "Where else would he go?"

Ron's eyes had grown huge - that couldn't have been comfortable. Luna had turned sombre, her silver eyes unusually sharp. Hermione sighed, still wearing that bloodhound look. Neville tried and filed to mimic a marble statue. Mom would possibly faint. Dad was still frowning. The little thing in Harry's arms didn't have to look smug for George to know he was smug. Bastard. And Ginny - Ginny was biting on her lips. Harry promised he would never hurt Ginny. Harry promised …

"It's not like he'll do anything." The boy saviour added.

No joke.

* * *

 **A/N: I've finally figured it out! Here is what I'm gonna do: each chapter will be narrated by a different HP character (no OCs, I believe). Some of them main characters from the books, some of them secondary. Towards the climax I'll switch into Harry's PoV, and it all goes well, the resolution chapter we get to see what 'Tommy' has been thinking about all this time.**

 **Next up: a very inquisitive Hermione Granger on the case.**


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